"
"Yes, yes," said the Chaplain hurriedly. "Go on with your story."
"Somehow, until I could get out of those compromising garments, I
felt it would not be safe to surrender myself to the police. The
thing that puzzled me was why no attempt was made to arrest me,
since there was no question as to the suspicion which followed me,
like an inseparable shadow, wherever I went. Stares, nudgings,
whisperings, and even loud-spoken remarks of 'that's 'im' greeted my
every appearance, and the meanest and most deserted eating-house
that I patronised soon became filled with a crowd of furtively
watching customers. I began to sympathise with the feeling of Royal
personages trying to do a little private shopping under the
unsparing scrutiny of an irrepressible public. And still, with all
this inarticulate shadowing, which weighed on my nerves almost worse
than open hostility would have done, no attempt was made to
interfere with my liberty. Later on I discovered the reason. At
the time of the murder on the lonely highway a series of important
bloodhound trials had been taking place in the near neighbourhood,
and some dozen and a half couples of trained animals had been put on
the track of the supposed murderer--on my track. One of our most
public-spirited London dailies had offered a princely prize to the
owner of the pair that should first track me down, and betting on
the chances of the respective competitors became rife throughout the
land. The dogs ranged far and wide over about thirteen counties,
and though my own movements had become by this time perfectly well-
known to police and public alike, the sporting instincts of the
nation stepped in to prevent my premature arrest.
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